A Splice Of Life
by Nikoru Sanzo
Summary: [Third Slice served and dedicated to Kydasam] Each Chapter or Slice is a ministory of the NonAdventures of Van Helsing and Carl. Rife with monks who need to get out more, a Monster in need of a hug, and a Mysterious Chicken in need of attitude adjustment.
1. 1stSliceCharades

I've tried everything, you know. Garlic. Holy Water. Glycerine48. Dracula on a stick. And they're still not mine. (sighs)

This fic was conceived from an Out-Of-The-Mind-Experience. Not to be taken seriously, thankyouverymuch.

Summary: (Hopefully) A series of slice-of-life-in-The-Order fics. Warnings for Plot-less Pointlessness.

**A Splice of Life**

**First Slice- Charades**

as gesticulated by: Nikoru Sanzo

"Congratulations, Van Helsing! Though I'm not the least bit surprised that you've disobeyed Cardinal Jinette's orders to take _this one_ back alive for further study, you were considerate enough to bring me this creature's spleen."

"That's not a spleen."

"Of course it's a spleen! I've spent a considerable, though not really much, time studying the spleens of the creatures of night."

"And I've spent more time pulling out the spleens from the creatures of night. And I say _that's_ not a spleen."

Carl was getting impatient. He wagged the fleshy offal at the hunter, obliviously splattering himself, Van Helsing and the others with questionable goo and ichors.

"You had to pull the spleens out because you've been sticking your tojos in them instead of bringing the monsters back alive!"

Van Helsing gave an annoyed snort. He seized the contested entrails from the friar's hand and shook it with equal ferocity. "This is _not_ a spleen! Whoever said that basilisks_ do _have spleens?"

Carl's mouth dropped open, his accusatory finger frozen at mid-air. Of course, no person alive has ever brought back one to prove that or otherwise.

But it was in such times that a cornered prey finds in itself the unfathomable courage to fight back. And friars were of no exception. Carl drew himself to his full height as he aimed his barb at the hunter, grabbing the other end of the contested "spleen".

"You wouldn't know what a basilisk looks like even if it sneaked up behind you and bit you on the arse!"

Van Helsing bent down to meet the younger man's angry gaze. Snorting like a bull offended, he pointed at his eyes with his two fingers as he retorted indignantly.

"Would I say it's a basilisk if I hadn't stared at it in the eye and made sure?"

No sooner had those words left Van Helsing' s mouth did he realize the folly of proclaiming his bravery. In a twinkle of an eye, Carl was already poking him at the ribs.

"For someone who has stared in the eyes of a creature that kills by sight alone, you look awfully _alive_ to me!"

Van Helsing growled as he released the disputed innards and attempted to grab the friar by his neck. His dark eyes narrowed, and in the annals of the unnamed furniture and lab equipment that perished in the encounter, it would be sworn that menacing sparks haloed the hunter's face.

"Do you want to know how it feels like to be killed by sight alone?"

Carl gave a frightened _eep_ and stepped away from the reach of certain death. He gingerly sidestepped around the table. His shaking hands pushed back beakers and other delicate flasks in an effort to reduce the possible number of future casualties.

"Now, now, Van Helsing! Killing by sight alone doesn't involve the slightest bit of force, brute or not!"

The friar's supplications were falling upon deaf ears. Van Helsing pursued his quarry with unhurried but determined steps. Even as chairs, wheelbarrows, and a troop of hapless monks were thrown in his way, Van Helsing merely (and roughly, we might add) shoved them aside.

"It's useless, Carl! You've set the trap, now come see what you just caught for yourself!"

The friar hollered back, "Eh, you don't look so trapped to me! Go on! Shoo! Thou must run free with thine own kind, thou wild beast that can't be slain by a basilisk's stare!"

Carl continued to plead and weave his way through tables, suspicious contraptions on trolleys, and the Order's other members who had now wisely chosen to step out of harm's way.

They finally reached the far end of the lab, leaving a trail of traumatized and annoyed monks, not to mention a handful of equipment that would've fared better had they been run over by a pack of manticores.

Fortune smiled upon the friar for he chanced upon Brother Julian, the oldest and most respected member working in the lab. Carl dived behind the venerable octogenarian and peered over the latter's shoulder.

Van Helsing stopped in his tracks and raised an eyebrow. He crossed his arms and sighed.

"Don't prolong your agony, Carl. Leave the innocent bystander out of this."

Unable to put up with the fracas, the aged Brother Julian gingerly laid down a wyvern fang he had been examining. He took off his gloves and stuffed them in a pocket of his apron. He patted Carl's hand before gently removing its viselike grip on his shoulder as he addressed his rancorous neighbors.

"Pardon me, my brothers, but what appendage of which of God's creatures has merited such a spirited discussion?"

Carl spoke first. "Will somebody _please_ inform Mr. Van Helsing to be sure of what a bloody basilisk looks like before he hunts down some random monster, claims that it's indeed a basilisk even though he obviously won a staring contest with it, pulls out the spleen that he thought shouldn't be there, then proceeds nicely to accuse me of not knowing that basilisks have no spleens!"

The old monk stepped away from Carl and approached Van Helsing. He adjusted the bifocals perched upon his nose and gave the hunter a questioning gaze.

Van Helsing defended himself, all the while glaring at Carl. "I haven't been given enough information on the nature of the monster. Reports stated it to be a rather large snake and the townsfolk suspected it was a basilisk. That's the information I cabled to Cardinal Jinette. And besides, in the heat of battle, you tend to forget certain things, do you not?"

"True. Go on, please." Brother Julian replied.

The hunter narrowed his eyes and waited until he saw the young friar gulp nervously. "I would've been sure of what I was dealing with had not a certain little friar made a fuss about wanting to stay in the lab this time. And besides, I could've used a good demon bait too."

Twice more, Carl gulped nervously.

Brother Julian went back to his table and pulled out some papers from underneath a dusty tome. "Van Helsing, we cannot just deny Brother Carl's assertion that it wasn't a basilisk that perished by your hand. It might simply have been a large snake, for a staring contest with the monster did you no harm. And yet the Almighty, who has seen fit to allow the mysterious to dwell alongside what is known, might have found it reasonable to make anomalies out of an anomaly."

Carl's eyes widened. "Are you saying that it could've been a mutated basilisk? One who cannot kill by sight?" He sighed in disappointment when the old monk nodded.

"Still, we shouldn't jump into conclusions," Brother Julian replied. "It might've been a mutated basilisk or your garden variety giant snake. Which accounts for the er… spleen."

The corner of Van Helsing's mouth twitched as he recalled the encounter. "Nothing garden variety about that one. I was in the tunnels when the monster attacked. I thought it would be wise to lead the creature out into the open. That's when I was able to get a good look at its face- or whatever was left of it."

Carl, somewhat confident that he was out of danger, took a few steps towards the hunter. "Whatever was left of it?" he asked.

Van Helsing shrugged. "It got too close to me in the tunnels. I managed to fend it off with a hand axe. Damned thing, excuse me Brother Julian, was still moving even with the topmost part of its head lopped off!"

Brother Julian's brows knitted into a frown. "And so you didn't see if it had a crown?"

"A crown?" Both men turned to the old monk.

The old monk raised his hands and outlined a dome- shaped object above his head. "Yes, a crown. In the _Bestiaries_, it was discussed that the basilisk is the King of Snakes, hence it was often drawn with a crown- shaped protrusion on its head."

The downcast look on Van Helsing's face told Brother Julian that the "crown", if there was one in the first place, was still somewhere in the tunnels and perhaps would remain lost forever. He smiled and tapped the hunter's shoulder.

"Do not despair. There's another way of identifying the creature you've slain. When you led it out of the tunnels, how did it move?"

Van Helsing's eyes lit up and he rubbed his chin. "It was slithering, all right."

"But _how_ did it slither?" the old monk pressed. At this point, other people in the lab had begun to gather around them and were listening to the conversation with interest.

"Oh, like this, I suppose." Van Helsing spread his arms for balance and began to wobble his entire body. He swayed from left to right, then back and forth, bending his body at the waist.

As the others ooh- ed and ahh- ed at the spectacle, Carl grimaced and stepped into the circle around the basilisk impressionist.

"Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop that insufferable wobbling! It's drowning out my sense of decency! That's not how a proper basilisk slithers about!" An exasperated Carl waved his hands.

Van Helsing ceased his display and shot the friar a skeptical look. "And I bet _you _know how a basilisk should slither?"

The friar pouted. "Brother Julian said that the basilisk is the King of Snakes. What you've tortured us with is an impression of a half-blind bugbear that's had too much ale! Now let a scholar of the Order show you how a basilisk slithers!"

Carl bit his lip and stretched out his arms before him. He clasped his hands together, bent slightly forwards, thrust his butt out and began to undulate his entire body. As Carl swayed and bucked his hips, his captive audience threw medicinal herbs and weeds, handkerchiefs and catcalls at him.

"Yeah! Shake it, Carl! Shake it!" the monks hooted and whistled.

Carl immediately straightened, his cheeks blushing furiously. "Excuse me, but I am performing a demonstration in the name of science here! I am not some poppet engaging in whatever form of lechery you supposedly holy cretins are cooking up in those tonsured heads of yours!"

One of the monks hollered, "Sure, Carl! Like we don't know what _you_ were wearing last time you stalked the streets of London! (1)" At this everyone either permitted himself a hearty laugh or a side-hurting snigger.

Carl shot Van Helsing a withering glare, but the latter merely grinned and mouthed, "It wasn't me."

Brother Julian chuckled indulgently while he held his hands up to quiet the crowd. "My good brothers, though we are honored to be standing before the world's greatest though out-of-place belly dancers, I am afraid that the poor basilisk has been misrepresented."

"Well, he started the maligning and all!" Carl pointed at Van Helsing, who could only grunt at the accusation.

Brother Julian pushed back his left sleeve to reveal his entire arm. "Let's pretend that my arm is the basilisk's body, my hand it's head." Everyone nodded.

"Now the basilisk, true to its nature as the King of Snakes, does not crawl upon its belly. It does not feed upon the dust, unlike its subjects doomed by the decree of our Creator. Instead, it raises the upper half of its body, like so." Brother Julian bent his forearm upwards at a ninety-degree angle.

The aged monk began to walk around within the circle, forearm still bent while thrusting his left hand forward like a cobra darting its head. " As the King of Snakes, the basilisk carries itself in such lofty fashion, much like a king walking regally amongst commoners." As Brother Julian continued his demonstration, the others either nodded or conveyed their enlightenment with approving murmurs.

Van Helsing gave Carl a triumphant look and was about to open his mouth to speak when Brother Albert, a robust monk who worked at the smithy, jumped eagerly into the circle.

Brother Albert stood beside Brother Julian and rubbed his gloved hands in excitement. "Yes! Yes! A basilisk moves like that. Brother Julian certainly did a clear presentation for us, didn't he? Snakelike creatures, in their hideousness, are marked with a certain gait in their movements as I recall."

Someone from the crowd hollered, "As you recall? What would you know of monsters? You've been dipping your nose into the forge for twenty years!"

Brother Albert puffed his chest with pride. "I'll have you people know that I once accompanied two hunters in Crete as they were seeking out creatures of such terrifying countenance!"

Van Helsing, despite his impatience to resume his story, thought it best to let the monk finish his tale. He glanced at Carl as the friar threw in a question.

"And what kind of creatures would their quarry had been?" Carl asked.

Brother Albert's face broke into a wide grin as he rolled back his sleeves. "Try and see if you can guess correctly!" He raised his hands and placed them above his head. He widened his eyes, bared his teeth into a snarl and began wiggling his fingers above his head.

One of the monks clapped his hands. "I know! I know! That was you when your hair caught fire in the smithy!" The others laughed, prompting Brother Albert to stop his gesticulations and shake his fists instead.

"No, you idiots! That was a-", the offended presenter growled.

"A Gorgon, of course! It has snakes for hair hence your wiggling fingers over your head, right?" Brother Patrick, a Carthusian monk, volunteered the answer. When Brother Albert nodded in satisfaction, Brother Patrick entered the circle.

"My turn! My turn!" he chanted. He breathed deeply and narrowed his eyes as he looked around at the faces in the gathering. Brother Patrick suddenly assumed a horrified expression, eyes wide with terror; mouth gaped in a silent scream. He paced restlessly within the circle as he waved his hands like a willow tree swaying in the wind.

"That was how you reacted when the abbot caught you in his cell, making off with his absinthe and ale like they were water! We heard the screams even though our dormitory was at the other end of the Charterhouse! So much for the fearless Irish!" another Carthusian monk yelled, nearly choking with laughter.

The fact that Carthusians were known for their unrivalled strictness and uncompromising abstinence from worldly pleasures, not to mention their vow of silence, was not lost on the others. As guffaws and hearty slaps on the shoulders went around, Brother Patrick frowned.

"As I recall, you didn't cut such a gallant figure when the apothecary caught you filching his coveted supply of eczema cream, Brother Thomas!" the Carthusian huffed indignantly.

A bespectacled monk made his way through the crowd and tapped the current presenter on the shoulder. "Excuse me, Brother Patrick, am I correct in guessing that you were impersonating a banshee? I have heard that it's a specter unique to your place of birth."

Brother Patrick smiled and shook the other monk's hand. "Well done, Brother Jacob. It's good to know that some of us here have retained their brains, unlike _some_ people with fungus- ridden toes that I know of!" He stepped out of the circle and glared at Brother Thomas while the latter chortled in an unaffected manner.

As Brother Jacob began growling and stomping his feet in an attempt to mimic a certain monster to the tune of some loud guessing made by the others, Van Helsing leaned down to whisper in Carl's ears.

"Where were we again?" he asked.

Carl smacked his left fist on his right palm. "He seems to be portraying a beast walking on all fours! A gryphon? No, it has wings doesn't it? Then Jacob should've been waving his arms and…"

"Carl!" Van Helsing spoke sharply.

The friar replied irritably, "What? Can't you see I'm busy?"

The hunter raised his eyes towards heaven and gave Carl a gentle shove. Gentle enough to have sent Carl stumbling into the circle and muttering curses under his breath.

"Damn it! Are you trying to jinx me?" the friar hissed.

"Yes, Brother Carl?" Brother Jacob turned to the flustered man.

Carl gave an embarrassed laugh. "Did I say 'jinx'? I meant 'sphinx'."

"You are absolutely correct! Now it's your turn!" Brother Jacob happily slapped Carl at the back before retreating into the crowd. Everybody fell into a hush as they trained their eyes on the young friar.

"Well, umm…" Carl stammered.

Someone from the back shouted, "Don't keep us waiting!"

Carl scratched his head and looked around. Now which monster to impersonate? A werewolf. No, too common. A mummy? Can't afford to waste time wrapping himself in bandages. Dracula? Would Van Helsing be offended? Perhaps he's not the best choice of monster right now. Besides, who can actually mimic that _accent_, anyway?

"Hurry up! You're not the only one in line!" Another voice heckled.

Carl waved his hands. "All right! All right! I have something for all of you!" He grinned slyly and narrowed his eyes. He tapped his fingers against each other as he addressed the crowd.

"Brethren, our Order has faced monsters of old, creatures of great and frightening power…" Carl ran to a worktable before he could finish his sentence. He grabbed a crimson cape and an empty bowl and wiped it with his sleeve just to make sure it didn't contain anything remotely dangerous.

Carl shuffled back into the circle, draped the crimson shawl around his shoulders and placed the bowl upside down on his head as if he were wearing a cap. He stretched down his cheeks and jaw to imitate an old creature as he drawled out the rest of his speech.

"…Baht non ahz horeefahying ahz deez Vahn Hehlsing! Eemagine! Dehfacing deh Nohtre Dahhm ehnd not breenging Meehster Haaayde bahck ehlive!"

Laughter broke out in the crowd for it was no secret as to which _monster_ Carl was impersonating this time. The friar, emboldened by his success, walked around within the circle and shook an indignant finger at the other members.

"Ehnd yoo! How dehr yoo theenk lightly ov our greht tahsk? Do yoo not know that seence tahym eememohrial, wee ov deh Knights ov deh Holee Ohrder have prrrotehcted dee eenocentss frrrom eeeviiilll!"

Even as the others were nearly doubling over in mirth, Van Helsing remained composed. He merely grinned as he called out, "His Eminence, Cardinal Jinette?"

Oblivious that the laughter has suddenly subsided, Carl raised an eyebrow and continued. "Baht ov courz. Took yoo lohng eenough tooo guess cohrrectlee! I wahz afrehd I'd have to ehxcommunicahte yoo for not knowing yoo ahre een deh presence ov deh Cahrdeenahl!"

"_That_ can be arranged, Brother Carl."

Carl froze at the sound of the heavily accented voice he was trying to mirror a few moments before. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he forced a weak smile. Before turning around to meet the epitome of fire and brimstone now standing behind him, Carl called out to his friend for a last request.

"Van Helsing?"

"Yes, Carl?"

"Do I still want to know how it feels like to be killed by sight alone?"

End of the First Slice

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(1) In the animated prequel "Van Helsing: Assignment to London", we were treated to a delightful and squee- worthy Carl in a dress (to act as Mr. Hyde Bait and to give slash fan authors something to play with). It was the one spoiler that finally goaded me to make haste for the local video store. And so you see, kiddies, spoilers aren't necessarily the servants of evil, yes?


	2. 2ndSliceThe Semantics of Contracts A

Gentle reader (if you'd care to drop the pitchforks and torches, hehe), to avoid some degree of confusion, I thought I'd lay it out clearly. This is a Non-Con Fic (DUNDUNDUNN!), meaning- a Non-Continuity Fic (even greater DUNDUNDUNN!). Each chapter or Slice is an individual story about our lovable monster hunter and friar, and (hopefully) some colorful behind-the-scenes personalities involved in the Order and their missions. As the title and chapter labels say, it's a "Slice of Life" thing. (winks)

**Rasinah**: Thank you so much! This chapter is pretty much Carl- centric, but chapter 3 will show more of Van Helsing (promise! ). There's a guest monster here that's familiar to Baldur' s Gate2 addicts such as myself, but I hope I'll be able to describe the creature clearly this time.

**Random-Battlecry**: Thanks, fellow Fazgul! Hehe. Nothing can ever take the place of "Standards" (so aptly titled for its sheer genius). My little ficcie is but a humble tribute unto it. And Yay(!) for this "Slice" is full of Carl! XP

**Alli Kat**: Thank you, thank you, thank you! D Glad to have made thee laugh much. D Your wish is mine to dole out! Say, dare we expect an update for Green Eyed Monster soon? D

**SilverFlover**: Thank you very much! D What we lack in numbers, we make up for it with the magnitude of our Inanity (winks at Random-Battlecry).

**Sariyuki**: Haha! Thank you very, very much! Evil cannot remain shackled for long! I agree that Van Helsing was Evil(!) in the First Slice. He must be punished! (snickers) Remember the "Friar's Underwear" question? I hope this "Slice" gives a bit of enlightenment for thee later on.

A Wee Little List of Things I Don't Lay Claim To Here:

1.Anything/one that looks like it's/they're from Van Helsing

2.Anything/one that looks like it's/they're from Baldur' s Gate 2- Shadows of Amn (Beholder & idea for the story)

3.David Wenham (sighs… Life _is_ Cruel…)

Have fun! Chew first before you swallow. ;

**A Splice of Life **

**Second Slice- The Semantics of Contracts (part 1 of 3)**

As worded by: Nikoru Sanzo

If Carl had unwittingly found his way into the Holy See' s wine cellars, unwittingly emptied an eighth of a barrel of the Cardinal's finest wine, and perhaps, even unwittingly stumbled into the apothecary's lab and unwittingly munched on some vision- inducing herbs, then he would've found the wits to blink and giggle at the strange sight that now floated before him.

But Carl was very much sober and the ten eyes that blinked and the three-foot, fang- filled maw that giggled at him effectively chased away any wit that could've prompted him to make a decent anecdote out of this particular encounter.

Trapped in a small and rocky valley, miles from any form of help, the friar gulped and strained his back against the wall of limestone. Even as he struggled to mumble a string of previously- forgotten prayers to every saint in heaven, he took note with undisguised awe the form of the rare and terrible Beholder monster.

The creature was bereft of a body but frighteningly blessed with a huge floating head crowned by ten eyes attached to their respective arm- length stalks. Upon its face rested a single eye twice the size of a man's head and a large mouth that showcased rows of fangs whose properties Carl did well not to imagine in great detail. Especially if all he had was a tiny vial of useless holy water and a little chicken tucked under his arm.

The monster had no arms and legs, but what could be gleaned from the Order's libraries told him that the Beholder could cast a host of nasty defensive and offensive spells. Tales had been told of this creature, so powerful that not a single adventurer who dared to cross its path has ever returned to tell of the battle.

_Then where the bloody hell did the stories come from in the first place?_

The momentary questioning frown that broke the mask of fear on Carl's face seemed to snap the Beholder from its own observation of the human. The creature hovered closer and thrust forward five of its tentacle eyes inches away from Carl's.

"Would you care to humor me, little human? Can you provide a reason for me not to fry you, melt you, disintegrate you, turn you into stone, or perhaps transmogrify you into a frog?" Each of the five eyes blinked as their tentacles wriggled hideously at the mention of each choice of punishment.

A half- smothered _eep_ managed to escape the friar's lips. Carl smiled anxiously as he pitched his words and a silent prayer.

"D-didn't your granny ever t-tell you that it's rude to t-torture visitors before you've had the ch- chance to ask them why they've dropped by? F-for all you know, my friend here (Carl held up the little chicken) and I could've just been passing by and fell into this big hole and-"

His words were interrupted for the Beholder threw back its head and laughed. But as sudden as the display of mirth was, the creature quickly turned serious again.

"Do not take me for a fool, little human. I did not spend three centuries in this infernal gorge just to entertain pests who feign ignorance of the Great Artifact over which _I stand guard_!"

"You mean overwhich_ you_ _hover guard_," Carl corrected him.

"What?"

"Hover… float… drift… glide… flit around… You obviously lack the use of legs and so I'm inclined to point out that the term _standing guard_ hardly suits you, "Carl replied as he made sweeping gestures with his free arm and flicked his fingers.

The Beholder growled and moved closer. Carl squeaked, "I- I m-meant that as a c-compliment!"

"Oh!" the creature exclaimed. It floated a few steps back and smiled, its dreadful fangs peeking through its fleshy lips. "I suppose _standing _should be attributed to your feeble kind. Hovering, indeed! Come to think of it, that's all I've been doing down here!"

Carl pulled the chicken close to his chest. His little companion clucked in seeming protest but Carl shushed it. He tried hard to keep his voice from shaking, lest a show of fear remind the monster what they had previously been discussing.

"Pretty lonely here, don't you think?"

The Beholder sighed. "I would say! The first hundred years, I amused myself with frying the rats and snakes that scurried around me. When cooking these little moving targets ceased to be entertaining, I resorted to the occasional vulture and scorpions. Now I only have the rocks to tell tales with."

The friar looked around with an approving air. "So that's why it's er, clean here! None of those offending droppings to litter the floor, yes?"

When the creature didn't answer, Carl boldly took a few steps forward and prayed that his robes hid the uncontrollable shaking of his knees. "And the next two hundred years? Did you find a suitable er- form of entertainment then?"

The Beholder tilted slightly to its left. "Well, I played Pretend-I-Didn't-Notice-The-Hapless-Adventurers-Dropping-By-Until-They-Came-Too-Close, but hapless adventurers are a rarity. They only come here every fifty years or so, seeking buried treasure or the Great Artifact."

Carl sat down on a rock and stroked the chicken's wing. "Then what do you do when there aren't any," he gulped nervously, " hapless adventurers to torment?"

"I put up a little puppet show with my tentacle eyes." The monster wriggled two of its lesser eyes and raised the pitch of its voice just for effects. "Hullo, Mr. Eye! Hullo Mrs. Eye! You are looking fine today, Mrs. Eye! You are the prettiest and handsomest little eye I ever did see! Why, thank you, Mr. Eye! Same to you too!" The Beholder giggled, pleased with itself.

Carl made a wry face.

Splendid! Not only do we have a chatty Beholder who takes pleasure in torturing living creatures, but also it has to have a sick sense of humor. Or lack thereof.

"Would you wish see my tentacle eyes act out the Battle of Salamis? The drowning Greek and Persian soldiers were a tricky but nice touch. How about The Crossing of the Red Sea?"

Carl pleaded, "N-No thanks. I'm sure it would've been er- profoundly inspiring."

The Beholder pouted. "Hmph! That is all you selfish, greedy fortune hunters want! Just a piece of the treasure and whatever your grubby little paws can grab! You cannot even spare a little quality time for the poor and lonely guardian!"

It was Carl's turn to be indignant. He got up, causing his little chicken friend in his arm to flap his wings and squawk. "Now just a minute here, Mr. Beholder! We are no selfish, greedy fortune hunters! We are under the service of the Holy Order to secure the Great Artifact hidden here by a malevolent wizard who defied the Vatican three hundred years ago and see to it that the relic doesn't fall into the wrong hands!"

With a sharp intake of breath, the friar quickly clamped his own mouth shut, but it was too late. He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable even as he covered the chicken's head with his hand.

An eternity passed by, but nothing happened.

Slowly, Carl opened his eyes and he took a deep sigh of relief to find that they weren't standing before St. Peter and the Pearly Gates yet. Unfortunately, he and his little chicken friend were still standing before the Beholder.

Surprisingly, the monster only shot him a scornful look. It floated towards a deep chasm at the far side of the small valley. A narrow stone bridge crossed the ravine and led over to a solitary stone pillar on which stood an ancient metal chest.

The Beholder took its place at the foot of the bridge. "I was beginning to like you, little human. It has been a while since I last had a normal conversation."

Carl grinned nervously_. One that didn't involve torturing your victims as they begged for mercy, I'll bet._

The Beholder eyed him seriously. "No matter. I am here to watch over the Great Artifact that you seek. And in compliance with my contract, I will do as my master told me three hundred years ago: I will not let anyone cross this bridge to get to the Great Artifact on yonder stone pillar."

Carl felt somewhat hopeful. "Are you sure your master was referring to that stone bridge? Maybe he was on another bridge somewhere in er- Paris?"

The Beholder narrowed its central eye. "I am no fool. I do not need all of my eleven eyes to tell me that he was referring to _this_ stone bridge!"

And to lay emphasis on the gravity of its task, the Beholder tilted and shook itself as if it were on the verge of death, changing its tone to imitate the raspy breathing and unsteady voice of a dying man giving out a last command:

"Listen to me, ye foul beast! I have summoned thee to perform one last task. Do not let anyone cross this bridge to get to the Great Artifact, and thou shalt have all the adventurers and treasure seekers thou wouldest desire to torture to thy heart's content…"

The Beholder finished its dramatization and gave a slight bow as the friar clapped his hands.

"At least your master fulfilled his part of the bargain." Carl shivered at the sight of a dozen or so skeletons scattered about, their armors rusting and leather jerkins rotting in the dust.

"True. But you have absolutely no idea how lonely it is here. I would give anything to be free of this ridiculous task." The creature sighed.

Carl kicked some pebbles in front of him. "Have you ever tried to leave this place of your own accord and take the Great Artifact with you? I know the idea isn't helpful to our cause, but didn't it enter your mind at all?"

The Beholder shook its head. "My contract was worded very clearly. As with all indentures between a wizard and a magical creature plucked out from its own happy existence to fulfill the slightest _stupid_ request, as _I_ was, there are consequences for breaking the contract."

"Such as?" Carl asked.

The monster replied unexcitedly, "Take your pick. A lightning bolt strong enough to fry me into a giant meatball, an invisible force field that only I cannot penetrate thus preventing me from escaping my duties even through teleportation, or a wart the size of Mt. Vesuvius. The list goes on."

Carl's face fell in genuine sympathy. "That's awful! I would never wish such fate upon the worst of my enemies. Well, except for that horrid Dominican gunpowder expert who scoffed at my Glycerin48. Or maybe not. In either case, I don't think anybody deserves such a sad lot in life."

Was it just Carl's imagination or did the way the Beholder looked at him seem to be full of sorrow and tenderness?

"At least you understand my situation. Well then, I have decided to grant you a boon, little human. I will spare your life as long as you never try to set foot on this bridge. This little meeting is becoming too much for me to handle. Now go! I hate teary goodbyes!" And the Beholder turned its back on Carl and began to sob piteously.

Carl stood there, a mixture of compassion and exasperation threatening to overwhelm him. He wasn't about to give up and return to the Vatican as a failure. No, Van Helsing wouldn't have admitted defeat, whatever the circumstances.

_Even if he was transmogrified into a cow or chicken_.

But to go against the Beholder, though he was to arm himself with every sharp and pointy thing in the Vatican, would be pure madness. And for the first time in his life, Carl doubted that even his Glycerin48 would work, if he had any on him right now.

In his heart, Carl felt pity for the poor creature. Condemned to stand, or rather, hover guard over some selfish and evil man's treasure. He cast a sigh and a glance at the sight of the unattainable metal chest on the stone pillar.

Carl whispered sadly to the chicken. "Just like what his master said. One foot upon that bridge and we're meeting with St. Peter up there… Now just hold on a minute!"

A knowing smile formed on Carl's face. The idea was devoid of certainty, but he was desperate to try anything.

TO BE CONTINUED IF THE WORLD DOESN'T END TOMORROW (OR THE DAYS AFTER THAT) BEFORE 5PM…

-----------------------------

Yes, yes, I didn't forget what I meant earlier about each chapter/Slice being a finished "mini-story", but this particular Slice was so lengthy, even my eyes started to water as I was proofreading it. (Or maybe it was just really sad?)

I thought it best to divide it into three posts and I'm still tweaking the rest of it.

I understand that a Beholder monster might be difficult to imagine, so I made the next worst thing- draw a picture of it! XP

It's in my photobucket album (see Author's Profile) under "Van Helsing" and titled- "Cutest Li'l Bugger!"

Feedback would be very much welcome. There might be some Errors that have escaped me and wouldn't it be fun to feed them to a pool of sharks? ;P


	3. 2ndSliceThe Semantics of Contracts B

**Random –Battlecry:** Thank you so much! Of course I take it as a compliment. Heehee. Goodness! I thought the Mysterious Chicken would escape everybody's attention at least until the continuation of the Second Slice, but hey! We'll see more of this Li'l Bugger here. And Yay(!) for this Slice is still full of Carl! Heck! I think all of the slices will be full of Carl, anyway! Hehe.

**Kydasam:** A million mountains of Thank You' s for the reviews. I am both honored and humbled. I'm glad to have madeyou laugh and I hope this continuation of the Second Slice puts a smile on your face too. My Beholder friend is blowing a kiss to you for the compliment. (the Beholder winks) Worry not for Carl because I'm more worried of what a certain monster hunter (not to mention the legions of Carl fans) will do to me if anything happens to our dear Friar. Hehe.

**EmeVHfan:** Glad to know I wasn't the only one hooting and whistling at Carl doing the "snake dance". (sniggers) Fret not over our Lovable Friar, okay? He's in more danger of getting glomped, as far as I can tell! Hope you'll keep reading and cheering for Carl.

**SilverFlover: **In answer to the feedback you sent me:ThankYouThankYouThankYou! I'm happy you liked the Mysterious Chicken too. Goodness! Why does everyone like the Mysterious Chicken so much? (grins knowingly) As for the question of how Carl will "defeat" our Beholder, I hope this installment will satisfy your curiosity. Oh, you liked the "snake dance" too! Sweet! Well, the picture of the Beholder did come out looking cute instead of scary. Mission Accomplished! (by the way, those are very beautiful pictures of Agnes and Midnight)

**Alli Kat:** In response to your e-groups post: Worry not over Green-Eyed Monster. Perhaps your PC is need of exorcising? But I'm glad it'll be updated soon! I'm also thrilled that you loved the doodle. Hope this one elicits a laugh from thee as well.

**Rasinah: **Molests, eh? (giggles) I'm so happy to have engaged the attention of one of my fave angst writers. I hope this one givesyou another giggle as I know your schedule can be hectic. Our little friar always has something up his sleeve, so don't you worry. Hehe. Thanks so much!

Disclaimer: I borrow and I return with interest and service charge. The Great Weapon that is Moony Eyes(1) was borrowed from Sariyuki who wrote a most wonderful & squee-worthy 3/8 Saiyuki fic about it- **_"Vice Versa"_. **

Aye, everyone would be pleased to know that we will be serving more of the Mysterious Chicken in this Slice. Heehee.

**A Splice of Life **

**Second Slice- The Semantics of Contracts (part 2 of 3)**  
As worded by: Nikoru Sanzo

The friar cautiously drew near the great creature. In years to come, Carl would regale even the most hardened of the Order's hunters with the tale of how, unarmed, he summoned the courage and approached a powerful and sadistic Beholder monster.

But of course, Carl would have to debate with himself later on if he'd include in the account the fact that the Beholder in question was sobbing like a child for want of companionship and was given to playing puppets with its tentacle eyes.

"E- Excuse me? Excuse me, o'l chap?" Carl shuffled diffidently and with a timid finger, began to poke the creature very, very gently.

The Beholder stopped crying and whirled about to face Carl. "What? Did I not tell you to go? Must you continue to torment me by flaunting the fact that I don't have anyone to keep me company? Go and take your annoying chicken friend with you! Leave me in peace!"

Normally, chickens don't snort, but Carl was sure that the one tucked in his arm did. He ignored his little friend and pressed on. "I only have a minor clarification to make."

"Like what? If I had been here for only two hundred and ninety-nine years instead of three hundred?" The Beholder pouted.

"N-No! Of course not! I mean, what your master said about not letting anyone go over the bridge to get to the Great Artifact."

The monster tapped its head with one of its tentacle eyes. "I did say I would kill you if you tried to cross it."

There was no turning back. Carl had to voice out his idea even as he felt his heart race in anticipation. "Suppose I could get to the stone pillar on the other side of the ravine _without_ ever setting foot upon the bridge? Hmm?"

The Beholder knew what Carl was up to, but it frowned in disbelief. "I understand what you mean. But even if somehow you were able to get to the other side, I cannot allow you to take the Artifact."

Carl waved his hand and smiled. "Don't you see? Your master explicitly commanded you to guard the bridge and not let anyone cross it. But did he say anything about guarding the Great Artifact itself?"

"Hmph! Why do you think my master ordered me to guard the bridge and… oooh!"

A smile, frightening yet strangely comforting to Carl, slowly spread across the Beholder's face.

"I see what you mean. My master _clearly_ never told me to defend the treasure, just the bridge. Clever, clever little human! But how will you cross the gorge without using the bridge?"

The friar walked over to the edge of the ravine and peered into it. His eyes swept across the yawning chasm and in his mind, calculations flew left and right as theorems and angles chorused the validity of his plan. Unfortunately, one _very_ important tool was lacking.

Carl held up the chicken so that they were face to face. "You wouldn't happen to be able to lay an egg that hatches into a gun that fires a grappling hook, would you?"

Normally, chickens don't grunt in distaste whenever a miracle was asked of them, but Carl was sure this one did. He sighed and shook his head.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't."

He could certainly use Van Helsing's help right now. Just as well. Swinging over a bottomless pit would call for copious amounts of courage, not to mention the ale needed to wash away any trace of reason in him.

But the only other alternative requires more of valor, less of sanity, and tons of faith.

In situations such as this, beggars couldn't afford to be choosers. Even with the possibility of one wrong move or word that would leave one begging for a swift and painless end.

Carl looked at the Beholder.

"What? I do not like the way you are staring at me. You have the look of a man who is planning something very unpleasant", the Beholder complained.

Carl grinned sheepishly. "Not unpleasant, really. Nothing of the sort. We just need your help, that's all."

The creature eyed him suspiciously. "My help? Does this plan of yours entails my doing most of the work?"

"It shouldn't be difficult for you. Maybe you could sort of carry my friend and me across the ravine? Please? Pretty, pretty please?" Carl pleaded and made moony eyes (1) at the Beholder.

"Pretty please with fried spiders on top?" The Beholder teased Carl.

"Yes, yes, with spiders and every other repulsive thing in the universe on top." Carl nodded. "Now would you care to carry us over to the other side?"

The Beholder lowered itself until it was level with Carl. "All right. Now climb on my back."

But before Carl could do so, the creature suddenly started laughing until each eye was almost brimming with tears.

"May I ask what's funny? Wait... Do I even want to know?" Carl inquired, immensely perplexed.

The Beholder attempted to explain, "Ah, I told you to climb on to my back, but since I _technically_ do not have a body, then _where_ is the back you will be climbing on to? Eh- hehe?"

When no favorable reaction, not even a slight chuckle, was to be elicited from the friar and the chicken, the Beholder could only snort.

"Three hundred years of solitude and the first creature with a smidgen of intelligence that I meet cannot even appreciate a Beholder joke!"

"Huh?" Carl scratched his head.

"Never mind. Just hop in."

The Beholder flinched as Carl climbed onto its head. It was grossly unaccustomed to the added weight, much less to the feel of a man squirming among its tentacle eyes.

"Watch it! Watch it! I do not want you poking my eyes even by accident!" the creature warned.

"Oh my! It tickles!" Carl giggled as he fidgeted in his place among the tentacle eyes.

The creature asked slyly, "Tight-fitting linen trousers? Do they not chafe your –ehem- frail human skin? Wouldn't a _tiny_ cotton loincloth be more comfortable?"

It dawned upon Carl, much to his horror, that the tickling sensation was caused by one stray tentacle eye that has found it way between his legs and into his robes!

"My choice of-- of undergarments is hardly your concern! Could you please remove your eye from out of my robes? A man requires some degree of privacy, you know?" Carl huffed and blushed as he hugged his legs close to his chest.

The Beholder snickered. "Fine! Like I could profit from what I just saw _in there_!"

Normally, chickens don't glare over any form of indiscretion done to their companions, but Carl was sure this one did.

"Ah-haha? It was just curious?" Carl endeavored to justify himself to the chicken, which merely clucked and glared (if chickens _could_ glare) at him.

When everyone has settled and the chicken amply warned not to peck at the tentacle eyes (as irresistible as it was to the chicken), the Beholder inhaled deeply and rose from the ground.

"Hold on tight, children! Keep your hands to your sides and kindly refrain from looking down at the bottomless pit and sharp jagged rocks below us. You will not want me to deal with any results of motion- sickness." The Beholder reminded them in an oddly cheerful manner.

Carl hugged the chicken with one arm, using the other to balance himself. He held on to one of the eyestalks but was reproved by the monster.

"You can hold on to it if you like but no squeezing, please? I am very ticklish."

The thought of their carrier bursting into fits of laughter, rolling and twisting in midair _over_ the chasm drained all color from Carl's face. He immediately let go of the eyestalk and patted the Beholder's head.

"Then you could just go slow and steady. We're not exactly rushing into anything deep and bottomless." Carl gulped nervously and willed himself to remain calm. He embraced the chicken a little tighter, close to his chest.

Normally, chickens cluck and make a lot of fuss when pressed against anything, but Carl was sure this one didn't. The friar whispered a little prayer, his heart pounding hard against his chest as they began to inch their way across the ravine.

The journey didn't take more than several minutes. But it wasn't exactly the smoothest and most quiet one in history either. Every few feet or so, the Beholder dipped sharply and then corrected itself, eliciting a surprised peep from the chicken and a scolding from the agitated friar.

"That's _not_ funny!" Carl protested. If falling into the chasm won't kill him, a heart attack would. Fortunately, they were nearing the stone pillar and the treasure it held.

The creature only giggled its apology. "Sorry. I will do no such thing again." It pointed one of its tentacle eyes forward. "Land ho!"

Barely had the Beholder lowered itself on to the stone pillar when Carl let out a sigh of relief and collapsed on top of the creature's head.

"You are not planning to stay up there forever, are you?" The Beholder grumbled.

Carl, chicken still in his arm, got up and slid down from the monster's head. He straightened his robes and gave the Beholder an affectionate pat and tenderly rubbed its side.

"Only with your express permission." The friar smiled and was oddly pleased when the Beholder blushed. Poor lonely thing, indeed!

The top of the stone pillar upon which they now stood was only about twenty feet in diameter. The ancient metal chest that supposedly held the treasure sat in the center of the platform.

The Beholder closed its eyes and seemed to sniff the air around them. "I detect no traps. You are fortunate for that fool of a wizard placed much confidence on my ability to _guard the bridge_."

Carl ran his hands over the lid. "You are certainly doing a good job. Shall we?"

The creature nodded and floated closer to them. Having deemed that the monster has crossed too much space between itself and Carl, the chicken angrily flapped his wings as if to shoo away the Beholder.

"Hmm. Touchy fellow," the monster remarked.

Carl reached down to stroke the chicken's head. "Can't blame him. He's not exactly having a grand day."

The friar inspected the metal chest and found no locks or other mechanisms that would keep them from opening it. He looked up to see the Beholder slightly quivering its ten eyestalks.

"You seem awfully excited about this." Carl observed.

The Beholder grinned. "I cannot help it. I have been itching to know what object of such great importance has been put in there."

Carl frowned. "You mean you didn't know? Didn't your master ever tell you?"

"It was not my fault that he croaked right after summoning me and I agreed to his terms. I only assumed that he did not want the chest opened. Gah! How incredibly foolish I have been!" And the monster proceeded to pound its head with eight of its closed tentacle eyes.

Carl raised his palm to halt the self- inflicted abuse, but to no avail. "No need to beat yourself up. Oh, please, stop it! It's not your fault!"

Normally, chickens don't chuckle in glee when faced with the sight of a monster beating itself silly, but Carl was sure this one did. The friar glared at his little companion before stomping his foot.

"Now cease that senseless hitting! Nobody here thinks any less of you. Do you want to know what's inside the chest or not?"

The Beholder paused, and coughed. "Forgive me, little human. All right, you may open the chest and we shall see what my master was so uptight about."

Without much effort, Carl pried the lid open and peered into the chest. He stared at the content in silence, his eyes widened in shock. He reached into the trunk and pulled something from inside. Carl approached the Beholder, the treasure hidden in his closed palm.

"What is it? Is it gold? Jewels? A tiny vial of magical oil that changes into 83 different flavors including pumpkin and sautéed shrimp paste? What is it?" the Beholder asked.

Carl only stared with a dumbfounded look before holding up his hand. He slowly opened his palm to reveal the Great Artifact.

To be continued...

... if the Great Artifact doesn't turn out to be an Internet Connection Problem Monster.

-----------------------------


	4. 2ndSliceTheSemantics of Contracts C

Thanks for the wonderful reviews, Everyone!

**Seadragon68:** I'm glad you finally unleashed **Friars Who Run With Wolves**! I just loved it! Naughty Beholder monster indeed! But can you blame him for what he just did? (snickers) Is the Mysterious Chicken's name- Gabriel? I've been meaning to ask him that myself. Hehe!

**SilverFlover:** Me? Being Mean? I actually thought I was being Evil! Hehe. Fear not, for the Great Artifact will be revealed. I wonder why people don't think that the Carl and Mysterious Chicken pairing is wrong… there must a be _good_ reason for it. (sniggers knowingly). The Peeping-Tom Beholder was just utilizing the use of its tentacle eyes. Can't blame the practical and opportunistic bugger, yes? And I'm also glad you've updated **Agnus Dei**!

**Kydasam:** Please feel free to give the Beholder a lolly, a cookie, and a hug (winks). I'm glad you're having fun with this as much as I am having fun writing it. I had a blast reading your wonderfully indulgent review and I am extremely humbled and thankful. I was practically squeeing over your responses to those particular paragraphs. Hehe. Yay! Another story from Thee! Can't wait to see more!

**Random-Battlecry:** As you wish! Ah-haha! Sorry, it's definitely _not_ Gerard Butler. I can only assure you that it's something more "perverted". (sniggers) No Scotsmen here, just more of the Not-So-Saintly-Friar.

**EmeVHfan:** I should be giving away a prize or something for every query on the Mysterious Chicken. Just kidding, of course! Lo and behold! The Answers that you seek will be revealed shortly. Feel free to join the club of Those-Who-Found-The- Peeping-Tom-Beholder-Scene-To-Be-Endearing! Heehee!

I do believe the Mysterious Chicken will need a hug after this. (cue for evil maniacal laughing)

**A Splice of Life **

**Second Slice- The Semantics of Contracts (part 3 of 3)**  
As worded by: Nikoru Sanzo

"A freaking _toe_?" the Beholder shrieked.

Carl lowered his hand and looked at the Great Artifact with a touch of bewilderment. "Not just any freaking toe. It's a _preserved_ freaking toe."

The creature averted its central eye towards the heavens as it remembered its master. "He mentioned that the relic was something that belonged to his body. I thought he was being poetic. I did not think it would have to be taken literally."

"Look here, the Great Artifact comes with a golden toe ring." Carl read the inscriptions on the ring, his lips moving silently. He spoke up, "It's in English. _Fear Ye My Toe of Evil_. That makes sense. I'm repulsed already!"

Carl continued to examine the artifact. His face brightened as he recalled the Cardinal's words. "I remember now! Though he wasn't sure what this was exactly, Cardinal Jinette did say that this relic has been infused with the power of the evil wizard who happened to be your master."

The Beholder snorted. "I know I should be aware of these things, being a creature of magic myself. But as an introvert, I kind of stayed out of circulation for a while."

Carl nodded. "Yes, well, you do need to get out more. You must know that relics such as these are often used to make medicines or potions."

"Like love potions?"

"And potions that could produce devastating plagues and such. But yes, love potions too…" Carl made a sour face at the thought of it. Now he knows why it was best not to ask what went in a concoction, be it helpful or not.

The friar took out a small pouch tied around his waist. He wrapped the preserved toe with a piece of cloth and gingerly tucked it in the pouch. Now that the Great Artifact has been taken care of, there was one more obstacle in their way.

He beckoned to the chicken who followed him, and started towards the stone bridge. The Beholder realized what Carl was going to do and quickly blocked the friar's path.

"If I could cast a spell and transmogrify you into a Beholder, I would turn you into one with eleven _ears_ instead of eyes! Were you not listening to me a while ago? I must destroy you if you ever set foot upon that bridge!"

Carl only heaved a sigh and held up his forefinger. "I know your master told you not to let anyone cross this bridge to get to the Great Artifact. But what about _vice-versa_? You demonstrated a remarkable memory by recalling your master's exact words and from what _I_ recall, he mentioned nothing about not letting anyone cross the bridge from _this_ stone pillar to get to the main ground of this valley."

The Beholder chuckled. "I know. I was just humoring you, little human."

"Oh!" Carl smiled. He held out his hand to the creature. "Care to join us for a walk, then?"

The Beholder nodded and followed suit. It was strange procession, a human, a chicken, and a Beholder that floated around them in circles. Every now and then, it would position itself behind Carl and poke the friar with one of its eyestalks.

Carl would stop and turn around to face the monster, smiling in mock puzzlement as he did so. "Did someone just touch me? Now who on earth could've done that?"

The Beholder whistled innocently, its eyes darting in all directions before winking at the chicken.

Normally, chickens don't roll their eyes over childish pranks, but Carl was sure this one did. The friar grinned and continued with their trek across the stone bridge.

As each step brought them closer to main ground, a sad realization began to creep into Carl's mind. Apparently, the Beholder was thinking of the same thing.

"Now that you have taken the Great Artifact, I believe there is no more reason for me to detain you here. I will simply resign myself to guarding a useless stone bridge that no one will want to cross anymore."

Carl reached the end of the bridge while the creature floated ahead of him. The friar's mouth twitched at the depressing thought. "You have been very helpful. I wish there was some way we could repay you for your kindness."

The Beholder looked like it was on the verge of tears. "I only wish for my freedom. But a souvenir from you would suffice to remind me of this meeting. Nothing like a good memory to bring considerable comfort to a lifetime of isolation."

There was no way on earth Carl would part with the chicken and the Great Artifact. He didn't have anything else on him except for the small bottle of holy water in his pouch.

_No offense to the Lord and all His saints but a lot of good it did to me, and a lot of good it will do for the poor monster!_

With a heavy sigh, Carl took out the bottle of holy water. And frowned.

Normally, holy water comes in an opaque ceramic bottle, not in a thick, clear glass decanter tightly corked and wrapped with ten layers of bandages. Carl held up the small flask and inspected its contents.

Normally, holy water, being water itself, swishes when the bottle is shaken. Carl raised an eyebrow as he tilted the flask and watched the viscous liquid within slowly ooze to one side.

Oh, the benefits of packing your things in a hurry!

He looked up at the Beholder and beamed confidently. "I would make a deal with you, a contract that would release you from your bondage. But first, you'll promise me that you won't harm a single human being ever again. After all, you can always fly out of harm's way."

The Beholder considered that it wouldn't hurt to go along with the friar. "All right, I promise. What about self- defense? Am I allowed to maim them at least?"

Carl rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and then shook an admonishing finger. "Only if necessary, but nothing fatal and no killing! And nothing that will traumatize them for the rest of their lives."

The creature stuck out its tongue. "I guess that rules out transforming them into cockroaches. Hmph! There goes a lot of fun. I agree with your terms but I still do not see how I will be freed from my contract. You may appear to be a holy man, but you are certainly no magician."

Carl beamed with pride as he dispensed a drop of the liquid into his fingertip. "Ah, but I am better than a magician!"

He stood at the foot of the bridge and flicked his wrist forward, like a priest scattering holy water from his fingers. Only it wasn't holy water this time.

A small explosion shattered the part of the bridge a few feet away from Carl. The friar quickly stepped back, took another drop of the liquid and flicked his wrist once more. Another explosion completely severed the stone bridge from the main ground. Within a few seconds, the structure became unstable and it collapsed. All three of them watched in awe and silence as the rest of the stone bridge fell into the bottomless chasm.

The Beholder realized what had happened. "What have you done? Is this your way of freeing me? Destroying the object of my contract to have me fried to a crisp by a lightning bolt or hideously deformed by a wart the size of Mt. Vesuvius? What have you done?"

Carl snorted and crossed his arms. "If you were Van Helsing, I'd probably give you a good slap or two." Carl's face went pale at what he just said. "Or maybe not. Listen to what I have to say then you'll be the judge if what I did was right."

The Beholder had closed its eyes and hugged itself with all ten of its eyestalks as it waited for the inevitable lightning bolt. When nothing happened, the creature slowly stretched out its tentacles and opened its eyes (like a giant creepy blossoming flower, Carl thought with amusement) to find an impatient friar before it; arms still crossed and foot tapping.

"I don't see any lightning bolts or warts. Are you ready to listen to me now?" Carl sighed. He began his explaining when he saw the Beholder nod in submission.

The friar clasped his hands behind him as he paced around. "When an inventor is busy creating wonderfully ingenious tools that'll help mankind, he loses sight of time and the need for nourishment. But even so, the mind requires some form of respite and…"

Normally, chickens and Beholders don't cough in unison whenever they feel they are being drawn into one of Carl's longwinded lectures, but Carl was sure they did.

"Yes, yes, to the point, I understand. Anyway, one night I decided to rest my mind for a moment so I wandered into the Order's libraries and chanced upon this little book called Laws On Obligations and Contracts."

The Beholder perked up and floated closer. "And what did you find in the book?"

Carl put a forefinger on his lower lip as he raised his eyes towards the heavens. "Having been burned by a fellow friar's failed promise to deliver certain chemicals for my use in exchange for some drops of Glycerin48, I sought some comforting words that would validate my indignation over the whole fiasco."

The Beholder was becoming impatient. "And?"

Carl scratched his head. "Oh, sorry. Anyway, a particular passage caught my eye, and bless my unfailing memory, I managed to tuck it away in my mind for future reference. It said that whenever one is bound to perform a _specific_ task or deliver a _specific_ object, and yet a fortuitous event, that is not of the obligor and the obligee' s doing, happens…"

"Yes?" The Beholder urged the friar to continue.

Carl smiled. "… happens in such a way that the task can no longer be performed or the specific object cannot be replaced, then both parties are released from the deal for the contract is deemed null and void due to the fact that it can no longer be fulfilled."

"So?" The Beholder sulked.

Carl held out his palms. "So? I followed the same principle. By destroying this bridge, _the one and only_ stone bridge you must guard, your contract is rendered impossible to perform. And since the destruction was not of your doing and couldn't have been predicted by you, then you are held unaccountable. Don't you get it? You are _free_!"

"Free? _Free_! Free at last!" The good news finally sunk in and the creature whirled and rolled midair in sheer joy, hooting and giggling in the most endearing way possible for a monster.

Carl watched the triumphant display of aerial acrobatics with a sense of pride and fulfillment.

"Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, eh?" He looked down at the chicken. The chicken looked up at him, the beady little eyes soft with emotion. But when Carl gave him a rather self- righteous grin, the flash of annoyance in the chicken's eyes gave him a _start_.

The kind of jolt that comes with having remembered something of utmost importance. Something that would've been extremely unfortunate had it actually been forgotten.

In near panic, Carl picked up the chicken and ran towards the Beholder. "Excuse me, I don't mean to interrupt your dance of joy and all but aren't you forgetting someone?" Carl held up the chicken to the monster.

The Beholder floated down and drooped all ten eyestalks as it pouted like a rebellious child. "Aaaawwww! Do I _have_ to?"

Carl looked incredulous. "Of course you _have_ to! I can't take him back to the Order looking like this! What will the Cardinal say? No pets allowed in the Vatican!"

The Beholder groaned. "All right! But he must promise not to try and stick those ridiculous whirring _pie cutters_ into my eyes _again_ after I transmogrify him back to his old self. Did not his granny ever tell him that it is rude to cut off the eyestalks of strangers?"

Carl nodded and wagged a finger. "Yes, yes, he knows that and he's learned his lesson. Now could you just please turn him back into the way he should be?"

"If you insist. Put him down, then. I feel he might not want to be carried once more in a man's arms after he regains his true form," the Beholder ordered him.

The friar obeyed and gently placed the chicken on the ground. A wistful expression found its way onto Carl's face. He sighed and then whispered, "That _would_ be a shame, indeed."

At first, the chicken flapped his wings in agitation, but having seen the reassuring look on Carl's face, the little creature calmed down and stood his ground.

The Beholder narrowed its central eye and began to chant a spell. The words that escaped the monster's lips struck Carl as an ancient and unknown tongue that was only spoken in realms beyond human existence.

The little chicken began to glow with unearthly light and was suddenly enveloped by a bright flash. The friar shielded his eyes for a moment and only after the brightness has been dispelled did Carl dare to look at the result.

"_That_ wasn't funny," Van Helsing bitterly remarked. The monster hunter sat on the ground, unhurt but in no way dignified.

The Beholder sniggered, "If you had actually lain an egg, _that_ would have been funny!"

The friar quickly made his way to his friend's side. "Are you all right? Nothing added that _shouldn't_ be there?" Carl gulped anxiously. "And _nothing_ missing, I hope?"

Van Helsing tried to get up. "I'm all right. Just a bit disoriented… Gah!" He lost his sense of balance and would've fallen back to the floor had not Carl held him by his arms.

"Now is that not the sweetest vision in the world?" The Beholder chirped at the sight of Van Helsing leaning against Carl for support.

The monster hunter looked somewhat flustered as he gently dislodged himself from his friend's arms. He growled at the creature, "Don't you be getting any ideas!"

The Beholder pursed its lips in an innocent grin. "Oh, no! No, sir! Us Beholders are exactly what our name suggests: just plain spectators of the many delightful quirks of the human race!"

"Sure. And _I'm_ the Queen of England!" Van Helsing retorted. He noticed Carl giving him a peculiar stare.

"What?"

"If you had to ask, you'll never know." Carl crossed his arms and looked away with a huff.

Van Helsing rubbed his temples and walked over to the Beholder. "I guess it's only proper for me to apologize. I have misjudged you, creature, and I am forever indebted to you for helping us in our mission."

The monster hunter closed his eyes and when he opened them, they were filled with immense relief although there was an intimation of anxiety over what might have happened.

"And for not hurting Carl, I thank you."

The monster bowed and extended two of its eyestalks. "Think nothing of it. You know well that I am the one who should be doing the thanking here. A friendly erm- eye and handshake, then?"

Carl approached the two and nodded at Van Helsing. The monster hunter took hold of one tentacle eye and shook hands with it.

When it was the friar's turn, Carl took the eyestalk and hugged it. The lesser eye closed and rubbed itself against Carl's cheek.

Van Helsing clutched his belly. _I think I'm going to be sick_.

"Farewell, little human. This old Beholder is very much happy to have met you. If you ever need anything, just give me a hoot and I'll come fluttering by. Take good care of yourselves." The Beholder seemed almost tearful.

Carl looked equally pensive. "Don't forget our little agreement, yes? And we promise to be good to every other Beholder we meet, if we see any more of your wonderful kind and if they don't play rough first. And stay away from evil wizards and their severed toes, all right? Oh, just take care as well!"

The Beholder rose up into the air and waved at the two with its ten eyestalks. "Far be it from me not to honor my word and your wish. Farewell! Farewell! Goodness, I hate tearful goodbyes!"

And before Van Helsing could gag from the overwhelming waves of sentimentality, the Beholder turned around and straightway flew out of sight.

They stood there for several minutes, each one reflecting on the things that have happened. Both men started to walk through the narrow passageway that led them first into the small valley.

Van Helsing couldn't resist from speaking first. "All right, Carl. I know you're dying to say it. And in gratitude for what you've done, I'll let you speak what I _know_ you want to speak of but _only_ until we get out of this place."

"Whatever do you mean? Is there anything I should be blabbing about?" Carl asked sweetly.

Van Helsing chuckled and put an arm around the little friar. "Very well, if you insist on being humane with me, then I will say it for both of us. I should've listened to you before I pounced on the Beholder and I acknowledge that you were just being worried. There! Satisfied?"

Carl closed his eyes and nodded with a smile. "Yes, I am satisfied."

"_But_…" Van Helsing tightened his grip on Carl's shoulder.

Alarmed, the friar squirmed uneasily. "But what?"

The hunter's eyes narrowed and assumed the same chilling and threatening look that he reserved only for the most dire and dangerous situations. "I would _greatly_ appreciate it if you tell no one of the chicken business. A simple 'he was rendered temporarily incapacitated' will suffice. I can do without the reminders."

Carl laughed nervously. "Of course! My lips are sealed. Not a _cluck_ or a _peep_ will you hear from me."

Van Helsing growled so menacingly that Carl felt chills running up and down his spine.

"Perhaps I have not stated _my _terms very _clearly_?"

End of The Second Slice

-----------------------------

A/N: I _knew_ that back in college, taking the time (more like fifteen minutes) to study for my Business Law (Obligations and Contracts) instead of just playing Baldur' s Gate2 all day would come in handy. (sniggers)

And now you know why I never referred to the chicken as "it".

The Toe of Evil (because Evil was the wizard's name. Hehe) was inspired by a slew of Asian horror flicks that have uber-ominous titles like "The Ring" and "The Eye".

And so I quote myself: "What's next? The Toe?!"

Yep, will be serving more Slices soon. (whips out a Molotov cocktail and glares at Office Work of Doom)


	5. Non Bonus Feature: 2nd Slice OUTTAKES!

Thanks for the wonderful reviews! I'm truly humbled and grateful.

**Kydasam:** Thanks so much for the thorough review! (blushes) Loved your responses to those parts. The thought of a parallelism between the ring around the Toe of Evil and the One Ring did cross my mind. But I felt that an outright parody (though always welcome) might seem a bit out of place in the Second Slice itself. And so I will heed your advice and consider the possibilities for future Slices. Hope this Non-Bonus Feature tickles you as well!

**Seadragon68:** You were absolutely right about the chicken! I'm glad I was able to get the message across without totally giving away everything. Or did I? Hehe. We don't have any immediate plans to turn Carl into _anything_, but Kydasam' s wonderful **Bogey Man **did mention what kind of chicken Carl would make. Thanks for looking this over for me. I hope this Non-Bonus Feature's unleashing satisfies your longing for a Beholder plushie… for the meantime. Hehe!

**EmeVHfan:** I was also sad about finishing the Second Slice because I'll miss the Beholder and the Mysterious Chicken. But worry not; I'll do my best to come up with more Inanities and there's always the possibility of future reappearances. (winks) I suppose Gabriel, Carl and the Beholder would make a great trio. Carl and the Beholder can always gang up on Gabriel! Heehee (hears ominous growling behind her)! Yikes!

**SilverFlover:** Thanks for taking the time to read and review. I started out with the intention of delivering some Carl Abuse, but apparently, the Van Helsing Abuse was just as welcome! Hehe! (hears ominous growling) It was Van Helsing's fault he got turned into a chicken anyway. And if VH fans come after you, we'll just give the Beholder a hoot and he'll come fluttering by to your rescue. (winks) Thanks for the "lawyer compliment". I wish my Business Law professor could read this. Heehee!

**Random-Battlecry:** Thanks! You'd be surprised to know what else could be more perverted than Gerard Butler. (winks) I'm sorry to hear about the mass deletion, but I'm glad you'll be able to give the updates soon. Possible demise of the Writer in OVB? Yikes! Perhaps you should reconsider?

-----------------------------

Goodness! I can't believe I'm doing outtakes of my own fic. (Too many Jacky Chan movies! Argh!)

Ah, justifications for posting this Non-Bonus Feature:

The Third Slice, in my humble opinion, is the most poisonous by far (though not necessarily the cutest… do I hear some cringing back there?). It's currently driving me up the wall and off a cliff so an Outtakes chapter might ease some of the death throes I'm having right now.

I did consider putting this up as a separate "story", but then it would appear by itself in the Just-In Page and some hapless victim- I mean, new reader would tragically chance upon it and be horribly inconvenienced with the need to go back to the original Slices. More unnecessary mouse clicks, therefore a violation of the eternal wisdom of Time Motion Studies and Plain Laziness.

And I thought it would be easier for the regular readers. See? That's how much I love you guys!

FEAR YE THE OUTTAKES!

-----------------------------

First Outtake:

If Carl had unwittingly found his way into the Holy See' s wine cellars, unwittingly emptied an eighth of a barrel of the Cardinal's finest wine, and perhaps, even unwittingly stumbled into the apothecary's lab and unwittingly munched on some vision- inducing herbs, then he would've found the wits to blink and giggle at the strange sight that now _floated_ before him.

"Van Helsing! Stop waving the Cardinal's monogrammed boxers as our _white flag of surrender_!"

(I know Gabriel should've already been transmogrified in this part, but this was an outtake before the first scriptwriter called it quits and jumped into the Bottomless Chasm. ;)

-----------------------------

Second Outtake:

When the creature didn't answer, Carl boldly took a few steps forward and prayed that his robes hid the uncontrollable shaking of his knees. "And the next two hundred years? Did you find a suitable er- form of entertainment then?"

The Beholder tilted slightly to its left. "Well, there was American Idol to keep me company, but the cable got fried. Stupid hapless adventurers and their stupid torches! Then this cable guy came down to fix it but I mistook him for a treasure seeker."

The monster sighed. "I called them to say that it was an _honest_ mistake. But they never sent another technician ever since."

-----------------------------

Third Outtake:

Carl sat down on a rock and stroked the chicken's wing. "Then what do you do when there aren't any," he gulped nervously, " hapless adventurers to torment?"

"I put up a little puppet show with my tentacle eyes." The monster wriggled two of its lesser eyes and raised the pitch of its voice just for effects. "Hullo, Mr. Eye! Hullo Mrs. Eye! You're looking fine today, Mrs. Eye! You're the prettiest and handsomest little eye I ever did see! Why, thank you, Mr. Eye! Same to you too!" The Beholder giggled, pleased with itself.

Carl clapped his hands in delight. "Oh! Oh! Do the Battle of Helm's Deep and that scene where they were going to burn Faramir! Man! That part where a flaming Denethor jumps off the cliff is so hilarious!"

-----------------------------

Fourth Outtake:

Carl held up the chicken so that they were face to face. "You wouldn't happen to be able to lay an egg that hatches into a gun that fires a grappling hook, would you?"

Something warm and round plopped down and smashed against the friar's shoes. Carl looked with disgust at the yellow and slimy mess now clinging to the hem of his robes.

"Can we get a _professional_ in here?" he whined as the chicken blushed. The director could only sigh and drive a silver stake through his own heart.

-----------------------------

Fifth Outtake:

Carl pulled the chicken close to his chest. His little companion clucked in seeming protest but Carl shushed him.

"Don't shush me! This stupid chicken suit is giving me the damn _itchies_!" Van Helsing complained.

Carl rolled his eyes and hissed. "Because you wouldn't listen! I told the director that a real-live, professional chicken actor would work better than putting you in a chicken suit! You can't expect me to carry _you_ around in my arms for the entire story!"

"Ooooooh! I didn't hear you complain _last time_! Even with the chicken suit!" Van Helsing pouted.

-----------------------------

Sixth Outtake:

Carl's face fell in genuine sympathy. "That's awful! I would never wish such fate upon the worst of my enemies. Well, except for that horrid Dominican gunpowder expert who scoffed at my Glycerin48. Or maybe not. In either case, I don't think anybody deserves such a sad lot in life."

The Dominican gunpowder expert who scoffed at Carl's Glycerin48 suddenly barged in. Angrily, we might add.

"I know you have a compassionate and forgiving heart, _Brother_ Carl! But did it stop you from putting a tojo blade in _my_ seat?"

Carl smiled innocently. "Oh! So _that's_ where the darned thing ended up. I've been searching all over the lab for it. Oh, my! Foolish o'l absentminded me!"

-----------------------------

This one's for everyone who liked the Peeping-Tom-Beholder-Scene. If it's of any comfort, I'll miss the Beholder monster too. (sniffs) But who knows? The big o'l bugger might get into another scrape in the future!

Seventh Outtake:

The Beholder narrowed its central eye and began to chant a spell. The words that escaped the monster's lips struck Carl as an ancient and unknown tongue that was only spoken in realms beyond human existence.

"Hey! I _heard_ that!" Carl yelled and shook his fist at the creature.

The Beholder raised its only eyebrow, if it had any in the first place. "And what did I just say?"

"Think I don't understand Klingon? You said _Carl is a sissy friar who wears purple girly thongs with rhinestone studs under his robes_!" Carl huffed.

The Beholder sniggered. "But you _are_ wearing purple girly thongs with rhinestone studs under your robes! Yet since I am a professional actor, unlike _some_ people I know, I stuck to my 'tight-fitting linen trousers' line."

Before the friar could retort and the director and scriptwriter start considering a job in the slave pits of Cardinal Jinette's personal Love Ranch, Van Helsing entered the scene with the look of a man who has been wronged and seeking for justice.

"Carl, you thieving little mouse! Didn't I tell you to stop raiding _my_ underwear drawer?"

The friar squeaked before making a mad dash for his life. Straight into the waiting arms of the bottomless chasm.

"Aaaaaiiiiiiiieeeeegh!" Carl screamed as he flapped his way into oblivion.

Van Helsing and the Beholder peered into the abyss.

"Not fair! I still have to ask him where he hid my pair of boxers with _Bite Me, Jinette(!)_ embroidered on the back!"

The creature patted Van Helsing on the shoulder with one of its eyestalks. "Do not worry. Since today is Saturday, you can come back at Wednesday."

"What for and why Wednesday?"

The Beholder grinned and produced a box, a manual, and a screwdriver. "Because on Wednesday, the friar will be bouncing back out of this hole by then. I just installed a giant trampoline down there. Never know when you will drop something you cannot afford to miss, yes?"

-----------------------------

Ah, sorry! I know it wasn't funny. But I just couldn't resist. (winks)

Thanks, Everyone!


	6. NonBonusFeature:2ndSlice OUTTAKES Take 2

Thanks for the wonderful reviews! I'm delighted you all loved the Non-Bonus Feature as much as I had fun poisoning minds… I mean, amusing the readers with it.

**SilverFlover:** To know that the Outtakes have brightened your day makes me just as grateful for I'm aware that you've got a busy schedule. I'm going for weekly updates and I hope this one elicits a giggle from you as well. I'm glad that you loved the "underwear jokes" and the trampoline. Hehe.

**Seadragon68:** Klingon for "purple girly thongs with rhinestone studs"? Maybe it sounds something like "Klatu Berata Niktu!" (coughs) Sorry, random _Army of Darkness_ moment. Hehe. With regards to Gabriel in a chicken suit, let's just put it this way: If the director had opted to put Gabriel in a chicken suit instead of using a professional chicken actor, then we'd be using the term "Perverted Chicken" instead of… (speech is cut short by a tojo blade whizzing by)

**Kydasam:** Thy query regarding the purple thongs will be answered in this atrocity of an Additional Outtakes chapter. (wicked cackling) Loved your responses to the bloopers. The previous Outtakes chappie has served its purpose, all right: another Outtakes chapter and an influx of ideas for future Slices… but not for the Third Slice! Argh! And I have to put the Third Slice out soon because it's already being malformed, I mean, formed. Hope you like this one as well. Hehe.

**Random-Battlecry:** False Modesty? It was more in line with a "Please don't have me strung up on the gibbet and hung over yonder Bottomless Chasm". (snickers) Don't fret over the tangents… I'm more worried about the cosines and secants. (gets haunted by the Ghost of a Failing Grade in College Trigonometry) Limericks, eh? I'll be off to read it in a singsong fashion.

**EmeVHfan:** Yep, I couldn't believe it myself. Perhaps the poor o'l Beholder was crying over losing its precious cable TV. May that serve as a lesson for Adventurers and Treasure Seekers everywhere! And for hapless cable TV repairmen, of course. Well, the Dominican gunpowder expert had it coming. He's lucky he only got a tojo blade and not Glycerin48 in his tea, wouldn't you agree?

**The Widow Dracula:** Thank you very much! I loved your stories and poems on Dracula's Brides. Carl is awesome, indeed! A virginal, hedonistic genius of a walking plushie begging to be abused… I mean, hugged! (sighs) As for the info on the mythical creatures, I must thank the heavens for letting me stumble onto Bullfinch's Mythology. Even though that hardbound copy cost penniless me an arm and a leg, not to mention a week of sleeplessness until I decided to finally buy it. Hehe.

Gasp! More Outtakes? Actually, only a handful for this part but no less perverted.

Gentle Readers, I hope you have fun guessing which Outtake corresponds to your "peculiar tastes". Hehe.

FEAR YE THE ADDITIONAL OUTTAKES (among other Atrocities)!

Brought to you by strong coffee and limp fries.

-

Eighth Outtake:

Without much effort, Carl pried the lid open and peered into the chest. He stared at the content in silence, his eyes widened in shock.

Dracula sat up and yawned. He rubbed the frost still clinging to his eyelashes and licked his lips. The vampire knit his brows as he began to take note of his surroundings.

"This is not Transylvania?"

Carl and the Beholder shook their heads while the chicken feigned indifference.

Dracula huffed and touched a stray lock of his hair, his pale fingers gracefully stiff with the air of one who has been greatly offended.

"I am not one to waste my unrighteous anger upon mindless, obtuse Dwergi. Instead, I shall sue the trousers off the incompetent courier that delivered me here!"

The vampire leaned seductively on one elbow and smirked. "Pardon me, but do you know any good lawyers?"

Carl gulped anxiously. "Are you referring to the noble and honest ones, or those whose bloodsucking abilities surpass that of yours?"

Dracula pouted and crossed his arms. "As a member of the often discriminated and marginalized Morally- Challenged sector of society, I resent that misused and intended slur upon my character! You are _sooo_ going to hear from my lawyer!"

-

Ninth Outtake:

It dawned upon Carl, much to his horror, that the tickling sensation was caused by one stray tentacle eye that has found it way between his legs and into his robes!

"My choice of- of undergarments is hardly your concern! Could you please remove your eye from out of my robes? A man requires some degree of privacy, you know?" Carl huffed and blushed as he hugged his legs close to his chest.

The Beholder snickered. "Fine! Like I could profit from what I just saw _in there_!"

When it has made sure that Carl and the chicken weren't looking, the Beholder whispered into its cellular phone.

"I have obtained snapshots of the friar's underwear. How many digital prints? Varying sizes? Certainly! We shall discuss the marketing strategies to be undertaken and the splitting of the profits, of course. And do not forget my _overhead_ expenses. The friar is no trouble but the chicken is unusually heavy on _my_ _head_."

-

Tenth Outtake:

The journey didn't take more than several minutes. But it wasn't exactly the smoothest and most quiet one in history either. Every few feet or so, the Beholder dipped sharply and then corrected itself, eliciting a surprised peep from the chicken and a scolding from the agitated friar.

"That's _not_ funny!" Carl protested. As he shook his fist, he promptly lost his balance and slipped off the Beholder's head. The chicken managed to flap himself free from Carl's embrace before the friar completely plunged into oblivion.

"Squawk!" went the chicken.

The Beholder frowned. "The burden has become lighter. Did someone just make an unscheduled stop?"

"Down here!" Carl's yell echoed.

The Beholder and the chicken peered into the Bottomless Chasm, worry etched upon their faces.

"Are you hurt?" The monster asked even as the chicken clucked nervously.

"I'm all right! Nothing broken. Oh, lookie! A remote control and twenty dollars worth of change. Anyone missing a medieval TV guide?" came the friar's reply from the darkness.

The Beholder wiggled its tentacle eyes in glee. "I have been searching for _those_ in ages! The last pizza guy refused to believe that I had dropped my money down there. The nerve of that fellow to accuse me of freeloading!"

(Done for those who find things in their sofa.)

-

Ah, I'm not really sure what to call this one, so I'll settle for…

A-Very-Perverted-Not-So-Outtake (Thou hast been warned):

A duet of unearthly giggling could be heard floating from behind a rather large rock. The Beholder cocked its ears, if it had any, and scowled. This cannot be good.

Van Helsing, much used to doing the _pawing_, grasped Carl's wrists. "Slow down, Mr. Needy and Greedy! Don't we have story to finish?"

The friar huffed and pulled back his hands. "Have you no faith in me? We have the rest of the Slice off for I've made a deal with the…"

"The Devil? How could you?" Van Helsing gasped.

Carl wagged a finger. "No, no, not the Devil. A Lesser Evil that I fear more, though _It_ was very sweet and accommodating."

Van Helsing sighed with relief, but he shot the friar a suspicious look. "So what did you bribe the Evil Powers That Be with?" The hunter growled," For your sake, I hope it's not a marriage proposal. Did you offer _It_ with wealth? World domination?"

"Fortunately, _It_ cannot be swayed by such trifle things. However, all _It_ asked of me was that I allow myself to be taught how to use these." Carl grinned and showed his companion what appeared to be a digital camera and a tripod.

Van Helsing chuckled. "Oooh! Are we getting hard copies?"

"Yes. A veritable cornucopia of hard copies!" Carl declared slyly.

"But what about the Beholder?"

The friar rubbed his lower lip thoughtfully. "Well, I was told not to worry and that everything will be taken care of."

Van Helsing growled, a predatory smile playing upon his face. "Shall we get down to business, then?"

Thunder rumbled and it vaguely sounded like apologetic coughing. It was followed by the ominous clattering of caffeine driven typing and pounding upon the keyboard.

There was the convenient _whoosh_ of a mighty whirlwind (for a simple _blink_ wasn't as dramatic)and Cardinal Jinette, chicken in his arm, found himself looking up at the Beholder. He raised an indignant fist and brought it down as he stomped at the ground.

"I refuse, absolutely, vehemently refuse to submit to this… this… this OUTRAGE!" the Cardinal sputtered.

The Beholder sulked and hissed. "Cease that childish complaining this instant! _I am_ the one who has to look under _your_ robes later on!"

(I got a sub poena for violating the Labor Code for Beholders.)

-

With regards to the previous outtake involving "purple girly thongs with rhinestone studs", a question was posed, asking for the origins of that unholy piece of underpinnings. It came from a mini-skit that I wrote and sent to **Sariyuki** when we were discussing the "First Slice- Charades" in our e-mails. For the sake of Enlightenment (or plunging further into Darkness), I present unto you a slashy Van Helsing mini-skit (dug up from obscurity and a crypt of massacred neurons):

(Deep within The Order's laboratory.)

Carl: Would you care to defy a few more of nature's physical laws by showing me how "one is killed by sight alone"?

Van Helsing: (whips out his spinning tojo blades) Watch _very closely_!

(Van Helsing stands behind Carl takes a swipe at the Droolicious Friar. Nothing happens for a second, then Carl's robes AND undergarments GLORIOUSLY… and we mean _GLORIOUSLY_ fall to the floor.)

(insert Angelic Chorus soundtrack and Holy Light Beaming from a window)

Carl: (snorts) My word! No need to remind me how sharp those things are! But _that_ hardly constitutes "killing by sight alone"! (looks around) Eh, Van Helsing? Van Helsing?

(Carl takes a few steps nearly trips over Van Helsing, who has effectively died of Massive Nasal Hemorrhage Courtesy of a Nearly Naked Friar.)

Carl: (pokes Van Helsing with a stick) Oh my! Death by Nosebleed! Now I know why The Order forbids wearing a purple silk thong under our friar robes!

Van Helsing: (hearts) Gaaaaahhhhhh…

-End of Insanity-

-

Well, that really didn't answer anything. Sorry!

Are those torches and pitchforks? Eep! (runs and jumps back into the Shadows)


	7. 3rd Slice A Brew Screwed A

Words fail me, like my abysmally dismal proficiency in derivatives and options pricing. And so I haven't much to say except for these:

1- A thousand apologies to those who were following this series eons ago. This latest Slice is long overdue, what with work and then grad school being the merciless taskmasters that they are. This piece had lain in the archives, gathering dust and sucking on mothballs until one night when Sleep and Reason took flight, we decided to dangle our prison keys and open the old folders.

2- And the Third Slice is dedicated to Kydasam, Writer, Friend, and Mentor unto us who were both humbled and inspired by her love for life, peerless command of the written word, and the things that make the keyboard worth pounding on- among them, her love for her fellow writers. Live on, Kyda!

Warning: This particular Slice has been rated for Substance Abuse (coughs). And by that, I'm referring to the substance of the fic. Or lack thereof. (winks)

**A Splice of Life**

**Third Slice- A Brew Screwed (part 1 of 3)**

As concocted by: nikoru sanzo

"Would you like me to compute for its velocity, trajectory, and its potential as a plague that'll wipe out all of Rome?"

Carl made no secret of his disapproval even as Van Helsing wiped his nose. The hunter grinned cheekily and forced an apology. "I'm sorry, Carl. But a sneeze is like Evil. It comes when you least expect it and the results are never, shall we say, pretty?"

The friar turned a valve on the Bunsen burner. He walked over to a small tray and used a pair of tongs to pick up from it a limp greenish strip. He eyed his friend suspiciously. "I thought you could sense these things. Evil and an opportunity for mayhem being top on the list. Don't make excuses about not anticipating a sneeze. Good heavens! The least you could do is to cover your mouth. Your bandanna is as useless as your sense of propriety!"

Van Helsing sat on the worktable and took off his hat. He stared ahead, a frown crossing his face. He suddenly leaned close to Carl and whispered in mock agitation, "Then I have lost the source of my power! Carl, help me! I can no longer sense Evil! I can no longer tell what barbs Jinette shall use on me. Will it be the '_I wish you a week in Hell for that'_? Or '_Go clean the Holy Latrines'_? Help me, Carl! If I can no longer sense Evil, how will I know where you'll be sneaking off with another tavern wench and…!"

Carl's mouth gaped and it was a pure reflex of self- preservation that got him to drop the tongs and attempt to put a stop on the other man's lamenting. Van Helsing laughed and effortlessly fought off the friar's hands. He slid down from the worktable and put on his hat.

Carl was furious and panting. Only visions of being sent out in the field as a replacement hunter (a frightful but just punishment) kept him from skewering Van Helsing with a nearby mop. He glared at the hunter and was answered with a very smug grin.

Carl picked up the tongs and began searing the strange greenish sliver over the Bunsen burner. "Good morning to you as well! I've much work to do, so go away and break something priceless."

Not one to give up, Van Helsing peered over Carl's shoulder. "What are you doing? What's that thing you're torturing this time? Is it Jinette's tongue, rendered harmless and incapable of convincing all men to lose their will to live?"

The friar put the tongs down and bowed his head. He gave out a defeated sigh. "By the holy toes of some bogus saint in a Reliquary! You are impossible, Van Helsing! This is a piece of troll skin I'm working on. I'm trying to study its regenerative properties and see why it's not impervious to fire and acid."

Van Helsing stepped back and rubbed his chin. He snapped his fingers and pointed at the troll skin. "Have you tried subjecting it to one of Jinette's lectures? Just place that thing a few hundred feet from the Cardinal and watch the troll skin burst into flames as Jinette rebukes it for being a godless wicked unrepentant skin of a troll."

Carl resignedly shook his head and resumed his experiment. The troll skin began to sizzle at its edge that was being exposed to the flame. Carl looked pleased and bobbed the tongs over the burner. He turned to Van Helsing and thrust the smoking troll skin at the latter's face. "Here, smell this! It's positively horrifying."

Van Helsing attempted to evade it, but the troll skin had already done its damage. "Good God, Carl! That was vile! What are you trying to…?"

The hunter stopped. He opened his mouth, as if expecting something, and twitched his nose. He blinked a few times and shook his head. A look of absolute horror appeared on his face.

Tragedy. A sneeze that should've broken forth but had the audacity to shun its calling. Van Helsing tried to pick at his ear, annoyed at the tingling sensation lingering somewhere behind his nose. It bothered him greatly, and though he tried to comfort himself with the thought that it will eventually go away, he was sorely mistaken.

Van Helsing, as a special kind of man in any way one looked at it, was different from all men. Hence, _it_ did not go away.

Carl shrugged his shoulders. "Well, judging from your reaction, I'd say the idea of making a potion from it is out of the question." The friar turned his back on Van Helsing and continued singeing parts of the troll skin.

Van Helsing pondered his situation while fighting the urge to pick at his ear with a tojo. He was never the kind to sneeze with a hushed embarrassed _pfft_ or the "gentlemanly" and forgivable _achoo_ that one would attribute to the more civilized members of the human race. No, Van Helsing considered himself a cut above the rest. He was standing next to Carl's worktable as the friar was examining the flammability of a piece of a bugbear skin over a Bunsen burner.

Van Helsing had drawn himself to his full height, inhaled as deeply as he could, elated with the feel of the air gushing into him. And then, with one fell swoop, he sneezed, or rather- roared. The blast was attended by a stomp on the floor and Van Helsing's fists connecting with Carl's worktable, echoed by the friar's surprised squeak when the Bunsen burner rattled and its flames quickly engulfed the bugbear skin he was holding above it.

Well, he didn't get a dressing-down from Carl. There were far more important matters to attend to. Such as the monk whose robe was set on fire after a startled Carl accidentally tossed the burning piece of bugbear skin at him. Then there was the matter of the "flaming" monk running for his dear life and causing a dreadful commotion. The poor man managed to pull off his robes before crashing into a miniature catapult and unwittingly activating the said contraption. The small catapult then released its arsenal- three large casks full of pigswill.

Even as the barrels of stinking and rotting pig food sailed above their heads, the fearful inevitability was plastered upon the horrified faces of those who watched and waited for its landing.

Why they would be experimenting with catapults and barrels of pigswill in a confined room was beyond him. "Crazy geniuses!" Van Helsing snorted, then sneezed.

The casks and their frightful contents didn't land on anyone. But they landed bottom-sides up in the loading tank connected through a pipe to of one of Carl's contraptions, a gattling gun that had been modified to dispense dangerous chemicals instead of bullets.

Everyone heaved a sigh of relief, for the sickening goopy sound of the pig food pouring into the loading tube didn't sound threatening at all. It was no secret that a week ago, Carl was advised by Cardinal Jinette not to put a trigger on the thing for as long as possible.

Everyone knew the Cardinal _disliked_ accidents.

"You would be pleased to hear that I've made a few more adjustments with this." Carl walked up to the large weapon and patted its side.

Although the others desperately believed that Carl had listened to the Cardinal's earlier admonitions on being more careful with the gattling gun, Van Helsing's instincts were screaming for him to get out of the room immediately. "And what would those adjustments be?" the monster hunter asked, and then sneezed.

Carl rubbed his chin as he contemplated the intimidating piece of weaponry beside him. "Well, I got this most wonderful idea when the Cardinal told me to delay putting a trigger on it. Really, His Eminence has no faith in my safety standards! "

Van Helsing coughed, then sneezed. The harmless sloshing sounds coming from the barrels of pigswill emptying themselves into the weapon was becoming strangely foreboding to him.

The friar beamed and ran his hands over the entire length of the loading tube. "As you can see, a considerable amount of time is wasted in loading the projectile then aiming and pulling the trigger. By removing the necessity for a trigger, I have eliminated a few nanoseconds from the process! But I'm not finished yet… Say, where is Van Helsing?"

Shoulders were shrugged as no one could vouch for the hunter's sudden disappearance. The gurgling sound of the emptying barrels stopped. An ominous click came from the gattling gun.

Carl suddenly paled but he felt he owed everyone an explanation. He squeaked nervously, "When a sufficient amount of the chemical, say an entire barrel of anything, has been loaded into the inner chamber, a sensory lever is pushed down by the weight of the chemicals and activates the trigger mechanism for the gun and-"

And in the sacred grounds of the Vatican, all hell broke loose.

To Be Continued…


	8. 3rd Slice: A Brew Screwed B

Warning: This particular Slice has been rated for substance abuse. coughs And by that, I'm referring to the substance of the fic. Or lack thereof winks Yes, I do believe there's a lot of Substance Abuse in this one. Hehe.

A Splice of Life 

**Third Slice- A Brew Screwed (Part 2 of 3)**

As concocted by: Nikoru Sanzo

Nobody stopped to question the angry, huffing friar stomping through the corridors of the Order. Not even when the friar's robes were cut into shreds, his hair matted with dust and a reeking substance no one wanted to inquire about.

Not even when a trail of smoke followed him all the way from the laboratory which now resembled a war zone after that little fiasco with the chemical gattling gun.

The pigswill projectiles shouldn't have posed much of a problem. But monks and friars with flapping robes that could easily get caught in exposed flame, unstable chemicals and jutting pointy contraptions have been added somewhere in the equation.

All of which conspired to compute a geometric progression of disaster.

When the friar stopped before the door to Van Helsing's quarters, the monks who were milling about decided to value their lives and scurry away like frightened church mice.

"Van Helsing!" Carl growled as he barged into the room.

The monster hunter was calmly sitting on his bed, his composure broken only by the sneezing. "Yes, Carl? Everything all right?" he inquired with apparent concern, then sneezed.

Carl's face went white with anger even as he sought to keep his voice down. "All right? Do I look _bloody_ all right to you? Have you any idea what kind of bedlam your boorish manners just caused? I'll be damned if the Cardinal doesn't pick up his skirts and jog over to the Pope to have us excommunicated this very instant!"

He was answered with a barrage of sneezes. All thoughts of vengeance were suddenly wrenched from the friar's mind. So rarely did Van Helsing come down with anything that Carl was convinced only the most insidious and fatal of plagues could weaken the strapping and robust monster hunter.

Carl quickly scuttled over to Van Helsing and knelt beside the cot. Another powerful sneeze startled him, then he laid his hands on Van Helsing's leg and shoulder.

"Goodness! You sound awful. Did you come in contact with the rotting corpse of a plague victim or by any chance ingest, by accident of course, the body fluids of a harpy? You know, the kind that regurgitates a foul and nauseating slop on its prey?"

Van Helsing sneezed again, his eyes already bloodshot and watery. He exclaimed, "Stop it Carl! You're making it worse! Even with the cold I can smell that pigswill on you!"

"Sorry. You just got me worried," Carl apologized and scratched his head. He frowned and looked at the gunk that caught in his fingers. He was jolted by more of Van Helsing's powerful sneezing. The friar patted his friend's back, grave concern etched upon his grimy face.

"I'm fine, Carl. Really, I am. Nothing a good night's rest wouldn't cure." Van Helsing tried to reassure his friend, then sneezed.

Carl shook a finger and scowled indignantly. "Nonsense! Your condition is vexing all the sanity out of me. If this bug of yours spreads and infects everybody else, I wouldn't be surprised if the entire population of the Vatican is decimated within a fortnight!"

Van Helsing rolled his eyes before shutting them in another powerful sneeze. "You're exaggerating, Carl! Next thing you know, you're having me strapped down on the operating table and using the tojos to cut out my lungs for further examination!"

The friar crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. He huffed, "Look who's exaggerating! There'll be no need for such dramatics, not if I can help it."

Carl dug into a pouch around his waist, took out a small bottle and thrust it upon his very ill friend. "Here. Take two drops and call me in the morning."

Van Helsing covered his mouth with one hand as he sneezed. He took the bottle from Carl and eyed the friar suspiciously. "Just two drops? Shouldn't my _grave_ condition require more than just a trickle?"

Carl walked over to the door and peered through it anxiously. Good. No sign of the Vatican guards yet. "Oh, don't be such a big baby! It's the most potent cold medicine one could buy from street hawkers," he proclaimed with much certainty.

Van Helsing sneezed and muttered, "Street hawkers? You have faith in street hawkers and quacks?"

Carl grinned. "Well, I bought some rat poison from them and the little buggers in the laboratory died from the mere stench of it."

"As everybody else nearly did." Van Helsing snickered, then sneezed.

The friar wrinkled his nose and tilted his head. "I beg your pardon? I've inquired with doctors but they haven't found any cure for the cold or allergies. And what better way to see the effectiveness of that medicine than to have someone test it?"

The mere premise of Carl's argument should've alerted him, but all the sneezing must've jolted Van Helsing's brain from its place. "All right. If it makes you happy, I'll drink this medicine of yours and pray I don't die a horrible death within eight seconds."

Carl stuck out his tongue at Van Helsing as he stepped out of the room. "That's good. I'll just change into clean robe, pray to every saint in heaven for a miracle that'll wash off this stink and I'll be back to check on you. Remember, you must drink only two drops. Just two bloody drops!" And he was gone in a flurry of torn robes.

Though danger, certain death and minuscule probabilities of succeeding in a mission had never drawn a single string of hesitation from him, Van Helsing couldn't bring himself to follow Carl's simple but questionable prescription. He sat on his cot for the longest time, forcing a coherent thought between the sneezes.

Perhaps he should wait for Carl in case he drinks the medicine and _something_ does happen to him. That way, his corpse won't have to reach an advanced state of decomposition before everyone finds out about is tragic fate.

He shook his head to chase away the morbid thoughts. Since when had the harmless little friar done him harm?

Apart from that time when Carl nearly set his hair on fire with a Bunsen burner? Or that time when Carl tripped on a rock and accidentally pulled the trigger of a flamethrower as it was aimed at Van Helsing? Or that time when Van Helsing was sitting next to the campfire as Carl attempted to put it out… with a wineskin full of kerosene instead of water? Or that time when…

He shook his head even harder to chase away the even more morbid thoughts.

Van Helsing rolled the bottle between his palms. Another powerful sneeze rocked his body. He gripped the bottle hard to keep from dropping it to the floor in case it turns out to be one of those things that explode upon impact.

The monster hunter rubbed his nose as he examined the unintelligible writings on the bottle.

Now why on earth would a cold medicine have drawings of naked men and women on its label?

But before he could _hypothesize_ (as Carl would say with immoderate emphasis), he was interrupted by a series of hard sneezes. The situation was fast becoming intolerable even for Van Helsing. The monster hunter made up his mind.

Van Helsing took off his shirt, accidentally sneezing on it. He grimaced at the mess he had made, threw the soiled garment at his bed and opened the bottle. With his heightened senses still slightly capable despite the cold, Van Helsing sniffed the contents. It didn't smell like anything rotten or disemboweled. Rather, its odor reminded him of roses, jasmine and musk.

"Just two drops? If something can cure you in just two drops, then the entire bottle could only do you much good," Van Helsing reasoned, in the same way that he would reason with –" Just two hacks with the tojo…?"

Van Helsing raised the vial in a mock toast before drinking the medicine. The last drop had already plunged into his throat when the friar burst into the room. Carl was paler than usual and was gasping even harder than that time when they tried to outrun a pack of hellhounds in Baskerville.

"Van Helsing! I gave you the wrong bottle! For the love of heaven, stop!" Carl screamed in between wheezes.

The monster hunter only raised an eyebrow at the sight of the breathless friar. "What took you so long? I might need a witness who'll testify that I was poisoned by your so-called medicine and not struck down by an act of God. That should at least keep Jinette from having the last laugh!"

Van Helsing paused for a moment. He touched his throat, then his nose as his face brightened. "What do you know? It actually works, Carl!" He beamed at the friar.

"Well I'll be! It _also_ cures colds! But-!" Carl covered his mouth with his hands in clear horror.

The slip didn't escape Van Helsing's attention, now that he wasn't being jolted by any more sneezing. "_Also_, Carl? Are you telling me this potion of yours does something else other than curing a cold?" he growled.

But before Carl could give an answer, Van Helsing was seized by a sudden and immense pain. He fell to his knees as he hugged his sides. A burning sensation washed over his entire body and he felt his chest about to burst any moment.

The friar knelt beside Van Helsing and gripped the other man by his shoulders. He then frantically searched for the bottle and found it on the floor not far from them. Carl picked it up and his eyes widened in horror as he discerned the markings on the label.

"Saints preserve us! I prepared this potion from a recipe book from that crazy hack of an alchemist whose evil plans you thwarted last week. Do you recall him? Anyway, I intended to test this potion on a _willing_ wench although I'm aware the value orientation of such an action is still rather questionable so I didn't push through with my plans and… "

Carl looked at his friend, helplessly struggling against whatever pain was searing through him. Van Helsing was now thrashing about and pounding his meaty fists against the floor. Carl gasped.

_Did he just put a crack on the cobblestones? By the Holy Cows of Saint Bovine! I'm going to die!_

Van Helsing writhed in agony. He grimaced in pain as he grabbed Carl by his robe and roared, "Carl! What have _you_ done to me?"

The friar, in a miraculous surge of adrenaline, managed to pry himself from Van Helsing's death grip on his robe. He ran to the door but before he could take flight, Carl felt some last words would be fitting.

"What have I done to you, you ask? Nothing! Nothing that will compare to what you'll be doing to _me_ when you find out! I'm sorry! Goodbye!"

To Be Sustained…


	9. 3rd Slice: A Brew Screwed C

Warning: This particular Slice has been rated for substance abuse. coughs And by that, I'm referring to the substance of the fic. Or lack thereof winks Yes, I do believe there's a lot of Substance Abuse in this one. Hehe.

A Splice of Life 

**Third Slice- A Brew Screwed (Part 3 of 3)**

As concocted by: Nikoru Sanzo

A small wooden door in the vegetable garden wall opened. It creaked, betraying any attempts at stealth. Two figures emerged, cowls pulled over their heads and bodies bent, their steps nervous as their eyes darted around to look for anyone who would intrude upon their intrusion.

The first man, young friar Nicholas, whispered, "It is well. The gardener, as always is on leave this day of the week. You should thank me for picking this spot. Your first choice- the infirmary's supply closet- got us into much trouble. The Head Physician naturally thought of the most suspicious rationale when he caught us in there."

The other man, friar Stephen, stopped his overt sneaking and would've shaken a fist had it not been for the mugs and a pitcher he carried in both hands. "Hey! You were making those gagging noises! And you're lucky I was able to hide the bottle or we would've been in more serious trouble!"

Nicholas made a wry face. "_Riiiight_. A hundred and ten Hail Mary's instead of a hundred and nine. They call us apprenticing physicians… My arse! We're more like glorified infirmary floor sweepers! I don't see why the Head Physician won't give us access to the apothecary's inventory where all the _good_ stuff is."

"Because… he doesn't think the Cardinal will be pleased to know that we're putting _things_ in our ale," Stephen replied dryly. "After all, putting disemboweled beetles and strange mushrooms in our drinks doesn't really count as a proper experiment."

Nicholas retorted, "Why not? Those had an effect, didn't they?"

"Sure. Nine hours' worth of retching for something that tasted like an old sock… with an old foot on it! I was sick for days." Stephen made choking motions.

Nicholas sighed and held up a small pouch before his companion. "At least we found out that strange mushrooms aren't good for the health. Here, pour some of this in your ale."

Stephen took the pouch and peered into the contents. "Powdered _daisies_? What should I expect this time? A vision of a lovely creature with a Lower Lip that surpasses all that is sublime?"

"I was going for sharper memory, improved eyesight and a cure for the hiccups. Oh well, it doesn't hurt to hope." Nicholas responded as he casually waved a hand.

Nicholas held the mugs as Stephen poured the ale and then sprinkled powdered daisies on them. They stirred their drinks with the tip of their fingers, sniffed the concoction, clinked their mugs and then downed the ale.

"Nothing's happening."

"Patience."

And before one could utter- "Daisy", the two inquisitive friars were treated to the strangest of visions.

"Brother Nicholas?"

"Yes, Brother Stephen?"

"Did we just see Brother Carl passing by?"

"Yes."

"Screaming and flailing his arms wildly?"

"Yes."

"As he is hoisted upon the hefty shoulders of Van Helsing?"

"Yes."

The mugs were shaking.

"Van Helsing, who despite his undeniable masculinity, has somehow sprouted a pair of the most ample bosom of a woman?"

Both friars shook their heads and blinked their eyes several times. With an air of solemn astonishment, they poured out the contents of their mugs as they offered their vows.

"That's it! This is the last time we put _things_ in our ale!"

Finis

By the Holy Cows of St. Bovine. I can't believe I gave Van Helsing a pair of **boobies**! XD

Carl: But they looked _awfully_ nice, really! The symmetry, the perfect ratio and proportions… and the ideal dimensions and _density_!

Van Helsing: _Caaaaaaarl_!


End file.
